Beach Stories, Episode 1

I don’t foresee there ever being a Beach Stories episode two or three, but I went for it anyway.

Pretty much every family vacation we ever took was to some sort of beach, whether it was Lake Tahoe, Newport Beach, or almost any beach (you name it) between Northern Viginia and Florida. (Virginia Beach, check. Myrtle Beach, check. Cocoa Beach, check. Even Nassau and Waikiki, check).

I was kind of shocked to learn that Jon has hardly ever been to any beaches in his life. I forced him to go and find me seashells the last time he was in Florida, and that was his second ever trip to a sandy ocean-beach. He even sent me a picture of him standing in the water. There was also an option on his phone to include the sound of waves crashing. It almost sounded believable, too, until they tried to throw in a couple of electronic seagull sounds. He did bring me back some shells, though, so mission accomplished.



Anyway, our family firmly believed in vacations, and those vacations were always to some form of beach. With three girls, someone (me) was bound to get left out, so when we lived in Virginia, my parents let me take along my friend, Christine, on these trips to the coast. That way I had someone to play with and I wouldn’t spend as much time screaming at my sisters.

Okay. So we’re in North Carolina, and I’ve just barely polished off yet another bowl of Team Cheerios (does ANYONE remember Team Cheerios? They were amazing. Three or four different kinds of Cheerios in one box. I ate so many boxes of that stuff that particular trip that my mouth was bleeding, not even kidding), when The General announces it’s “TIME TO GO TO THE BEACH, everyone get your derbis, we’re out the door”.

Let me interject here. “Derbis” may very well be my dad’s favorite word in the whole world. It came from some foreign Army captain he had early on in his military career. This guy kept yelling at everyone that they’d better get their derbis together, they were full of derbis, derbis derbis, derbis. When my dad finally gets around to asking this guy “What, exactly, is derbis?” he gets the following response: Foreign Army Buddy beckons him closer, crouches down, picks up a handful of dirt, and says (with finality) “Derbis.” The General has used it daily ever since.

Okay, so we’ve just been instructed to get our derbis together and head out the door. As everyone files out, I notice dear, sweet Christine (bless her heart) hanging back, waiting for me, with a look of panic on her face. She looks left and right, pulls me aside, and confesses “but I don’t have any derbis…I must have forgotten to bring it…” I didn’t mean to laugh at her..but I did. Actually, we all did, once I told everyone what she’d said. It was the greatest thing ever.

So we’ve all got our derbis (those of us that remembered to bring it, of course) and we’re off to the beach. The waves were unusually high and we were having fun digging holes and splashing around. Corinne and Annie were floating behind where the waves break (typically I’m too scared to go out that far) and Christine and I were body-boarding. We started to notice all these little fish jumping out of the water. It was cute and kind of weird, and we all commented on it.

I’m pretty sure that not even half of my family believes what happened next, but I promise you, this really did happen. Out of nowhere, this big old wave comes up behind us. Christine was further out, facing the shore and I was a few yards in, facing this enormous wave. All of a sudden, a huge, dark, fishy shadow flashed just under the surface. The last thing I remember seeing before I turned, screaming and running out of the water and up the shore, was dear, sweet little Christine getting knocked over and churned to pieces underneath the water. She had seen the expression on my face and was in the process of asking “What is it?” when the wave got her.

(forever burned into my memory)

No one got eaten by a shark that trip, although we did visit an aquarium a couple of days later and learned a story of a shark attack that had taken place on that same exact beach years and years before. A guy was surfing and he had just paused to watch the silly little fish that were jumping out of the water when the shark bit his hand off. The idea is that the fish start jumping when sharks are feeding. Creepy! (Although, it has been mentioned to me that dolphins also eat fish, so I’m not ruling out the possibility that it was a dolphin in that wave and not a man-eater.)

Great times on the Atlantic coast. Christine became more of a member of the family than I was on those trips, as is evidenced by THIS family portrait at the top of a lighthouse.



I became all rubber-legged about a third of the way up, and once I’d gone a few more steps, I called it quits and slid back down the stairs on my stomach.

(The stomach thing may or may not be true, but that was the first time I realized that I’m terrified of heights. The lighthouse wasn’t even that high, to tell you the truth, and I couldn’t handle it. We’ll see how the Eiffel Tower goes…)

Oh What a World

Tucson skies are, 9 times out of 10, always clear and bright, but when we do have cloud cover, we get awesome sunsets. I hurried home to try and catch what I could of this one on my camera.

So, we went to eat two nights ago at El Charro, a nice-ish Mexican restaurant, and I had my first-ever experience with ceviche…it was a good one. They take diced-up shrimp and cook it just by marinating it in citrus juice, then add it to a pico de gallo of tomatoes, cucumbers, avocados, and cilantro. I’ve heard about it ever since I moved here, and just barely tried it the other night. Amazing.

And our waiter was a total psycho, as usual. We had to tell him about thirty times that we wanted CORN tortillas. It went a little something like this.

Him: Do you want flour or corn tortillas?
Jon: Corn
Him: Flour?
Jon: No, corn.
Him: Flour?
Me: ..No, CORN.
Him:….Flour?
Both of us: COOORRRRNNNNN. CORN. Corn corn.

And it wasn’t loud in the restaurant, and we were definitely enunciating. Okay, so here comes the best part of the night. Both of our drinks ran dry within the first ten minutes of us sitting down. Jon refuses to mention it, but I wanted more Dr. Wells so I asked him for a refill. So he took my glass, disappeared around the corner for about a half a second, and then set THIS back down in front of me.



Half-full!!! What, did he think he could evaluate how thirsty I was just by looking at me? It was so ridiculous, we just stared at it with our mouths open. Oh my.

In other news, you may remember a certain trumpet-playing Star Wars enthusiast. Well, my friend from work informed me that the girl in that video is her boyfriend’s sister-in-law!! Small, small world.

Anyway, I’m trying to convince Jon to start a blog of his own. He’s always got great stories of his travels. Like, this one doctor, before beginning surgery, turned to Jon and goes “Now…if I go in a little too deep here, I might hit…..” (And just stares expectantly at Jon until Jon jumps in…”Well, there’s the spleen around this general area…pancreas here….liver here…..”, pointing as he explains.) And the doctor goes “oh, yeah, right, right.”

See? That story would have been so much better if Jon had just written it up himself. I wasn’t even there and I’m trying to explain it. Lame.

Scottsdale Arabian Horse Show

First of all, if you are one of my 4 friends on Facebook, please ignore that I’m using basically the same commentary on my blog as I did on my photo album. Not everyone that reads my blog is on Facebook, namely my mom.

So my sister Annie came down to Scottsdale this past weekend for a big horse show (or “whore show”, as Jon calls it. You can’t even really tell the difference when he says it, so it’s easy to get away with). Anyway, Scottsdale is only about two hours from Tucson, plus I have an aunt and uncle that live there, so we went up and met Annie there and got to spend some time with family, which is always fun. We headed up Friday after work and picked up Annie at the event center directly after her first ride of the weekend. After dropping our stuff off at my aunt Stacey’s house and visiting for a while, we went to eat at Pei-Wei (the honey seared crispy chicken is the only thing I have and ever will order from there..amazing). Annie made a huge mess as usual – it was so bad that the old Asian waiter wiped it clean while we were still sitting there, and then pointed to the seat next to her and asked “who was sitting here?” THAT’S how bad her mess was. The spilled rice spread across her entire side of the table. Hilarious.

Anyway, so Saturday we spent the entire day at the event center, Westworld. The show is a huge deal and there were hundreds of vendors, pretty art galleries, and tons of events going on at any given time. We checked out a children’s western showmanship class in the morning (basically a beauty pageant on horses). I regret the terrible condition of these pictures. Looks like I need more practice.

(This girl was my favorite. She took second.)

(This girl was my second favorite. She took first.)

(This kid had no chance whatsoever, but he was so ridiculously cute I had to give him credit.)


Okay so we kind of branched off from Annie for a while because she had other rides to watch, other people to mingle with, and horses to warm up. But every time we bumped into her, I was eating something different. There was the most amazing row of food vendors directly adjacent to the dressage arenas. I began my day with a gyro, followed closely by some roasted corn…

(just ignore the pained look on my face, who knows what that’s about)

The corn was followed by a giant corned dog, followed by Jon’s waffle cone.

Then it was time for her ride.

(This is my favorite picture that I managed to take.)

(I would have liked this one better if Sundance’s ears weren’t pinned back, and if you could see his leg from behind the cone.)

(That’s better.)

All in all, she’s the best person ever born, because she took first place out of her level, which means that the horse is a champion, and that his owner gets a blue ribbon, a plaque, a rosette, and $150. (I believe her exact words were “Yay! That’ll cover one-tenth of his entry fee!”).

Happy Valentimes Day!

I’ve always loved Valentine’s Day – even when I didn’t have a significant other. There are some people out there (mostly girls, in my experience) that just want to ruin it for everyone because they don’t have anyone to celebrate with, and I think that’s dumb. The holiday just reminds them of how sad and depressed they are, because their happiness and self-worth is dependent upon having boyfriend. Without naming names, I can think of at least one girl in my high school that was the epitome of despondency and misery-wallowing each and every February 14th. Take a girl that’s annoying to begin with, and then add a strong fake-hatred for anything love-related, and you can begin to understand the headache she caused each year when she didn’t receive a thousand red roses and a giant teddy bear. Girls like her try to say that it’s not because they don’t have a boyfriend, but because it’s just a STUPID commercialized holiday and who cares about it, anyway???

Wow.

Anyway, I’ve never been that way…I’ve always looked forward to Valentines. Even this year, when I only get to spend about 1 hour of it with Jon. He’s getting back from Regina (pronounced Ruh-JYNE-uh – insert immature giggling here) tonight around 9:00ish.

Oh, and we bought our tickets to Paris, hooray!!

February 8th

So, things have been pretty uneventful around here. Jon has been gone pretty much solid for the past two weeks, with the exception of a couple of days. We take advantage of the nights he’s home by going out to dinner. Any excuse to go out and we’re all over it. We’re trying to be better about it, because it’s so expensive..but if he’s been gone for a while, we’ll definitely go out the night after he gets home. Last weekend it was Red Robin, because I had a craving for an injection of cholesterol, so I chose a Royal Red Robin Burger instead. And a chocolate malt. Come on, this cheeseburger has a fried egg on it, it doesn’t get any better than that, really. I bet Corinne just said "ew" out loud.

Anyway, the girl that showed us to our booth was the slowest walker in history. Seriously, she goes “right this way”, and I almost ran her over because I started walking, and she was just scuffing along, looking this way and that. To the point where it was completely ridiculous. The second after she handed us our menus and walked away, we both looked at each other and laughed. We always have weird service. At Texas Roadhouse a few months ago, our waitress was one of those really annoying YOU WILL ENJOY YOURSELF types that is overly friendly, overly loud, has an overly high-pitched voice, and in general, totally fake. She took our orders, then squatted (I HATE it when they squat!) down near the table, lowered her voice a bit, and said “okay guys, this is what I’m going to do for ya. I’m going to take this order, give it to the chef…then as SOON as it’s done, I’ll go get it… bring it to you…(pause)…..how does that sound?” I guess we must have nodded or something, because she left, and then Jon turns to me and says “I really wouldn’t expect any less.” Stuff like that happens to us all the time. We once left a fifty cent tip at Boston Pizza in Fort McMurray, because I swear our waitress was on drugs. We’re really good tippers, too, most of the time. It takes a lot to make us go under 20%, and usually it’s upwards 30%. But this girl was absurd. She would seriously stop in mid-sentence to stare at the floor for 20 seconds at a time.

Leaving a ridiculously small tip is way more offensive than leaving none at all, I’ve decided. If you don’t leave any tip, the server might think you just forgot. Jon and I each have our own criteria on deciding if it was superior service. His whole thing is his drink – he will refuse to ask for a drink refill. If his water glass is empty within 2 minutes of sitting down, it will remain that way the entire meal unless the server notices and does something about it. Which seems simple enough, but you’d be amazed how many meals he suffers through, expectantly wondering if he’s finally going to become hydrated each and every time the waitress walks past. And MY biggest pet peeve is when the server asks me how my food is when I have JUST stuffed a huge bite into my mouth. What? Do you expect to me answer that? You really couldn’t have walked past and come back at a more convenient time? Really?

I’ve got another thing I was going to add to this post, which will seem random given the context of the rest, but I didn’t sit down to write only about restaurant service, I promise. My friend at work, Jesus, has a sense of humor about the fact that his name is.…very Christ-like. He’s been known to send out emails signed “Jesus (not your Savior, just Haysus)”. The other day he made me almost pee my pants laughing. He sent out the following picture to several people in the office.


And the subject of the email was “Jessie, please have people call my cell phone if I am not in the office”. (I’m the receptionist. Get it? I almost died from laughing so hard). I hit ‘reply all’ and responded “I sure will… those people need you more now than ever.” Thank goodness I have fun at work!

Squish

Pretty much every animal we ever owned, with the exception of my dad’s hunting dogs, were rescues. Whenever a cat followed one of us home from school, we kept it. One such cat was Mac, a pretty white shorthair with one blue eye and one green eye. Corinne brought him home one day and he became the newest member of the family. He must have been normal at first, since we decided to keep him, but then he started going weird (scratching, eating the Christmas tree, etc). Certain members of my family blame ME for it…that I somehow brain damaged him or something. Sure, blame the 3 year old. Either way, whether or not I contributed, this cat turned into a total psychopath. It got so bad that it was unsafe for Mac and little children to be sharing the same home, so my mom made an executive decision, packed the cat, Annie, and me in the truck, and off we went to “put Mac to sleep," which sounded like a nice thing to do.

My mom parked the truck in front of the vet’s office and left us with the crazy cat. I wonder if she was scared for our lives? Anyway, it was only a few minutes, she had to go in to fill out some papers before bringing in the patient. But when she came back out to the truck, the dumb cat was nowhere to be found. After searching the cab for several minutes, she must have just given up and decided that despite her best efforts, she had raised a couple of lying brats (“We PROMISE we didn’t let him out!”).

Okay, now I was about four at the time, so I don’t know the best way to describe what happened next, but halfway down the road, Mac appeared. He crawled out of the engine. There was a small hole near our feet, under the dash, and first his head popped out, then he twisted his body and his shoulders popped out, then he squeezed the rest of his hind-end through and plopped down on the floor of the truck, mewing. I’d like to say that that little stunt saved him – that my mom had a change of heart and decided he was meant to be with us forever - but it didn’t. She turned that truck right back around, this time instructing Annie to hold on to him tight, just to make sure.

By that point, Annie knew more about animal death than I did. Previously, before I could even walk, my family owned a little kitty named Kizzie. Well, Kizzie died one day, I don’t really know how, but anyway, she was dead. Okay, I just emailed Corinne for the whole story, and this was her reply.

“She had kidney stones. If mom had taken her to the vet that morning, she would have been ok. But she didn’t, so she died.” (I laughed for about five minutes at work over this. Seriously. I looked stupid.)

Okay. So my mom had hidden her body in the basement in a box so that my dad could bury her. She pulled him aside when he got home from work to let him know that Kizzie was dead, and that he needed to sneak her out of the basement, but be very careful because little impressionable 3-year-old Annie was watching TV in the next room, and mom didn’t want her to be upset if she saw. So my dad kind of wanders downstairs and is sneaking nonchalantly behind Annie as quietly as he can, when she turns and exclaims, “Hey, dad! Guess what!! Kizzie died!” According to him, she then proceeds to grab his hand, beside herself with excitement, and drags him into the next room, where she apparently had made the deliciously grisly discovery hours earlier. Granted, this story came from The General, who is notorious for exaggerating things, but he has been known to quote little Annie as saying, “Look! Look at that cat, she’s flat as a pancake!” whilst poking the corpse exuberantly. True or not, it’s worth asking my dad to repeat just for pure comic value.

Okay, why so many cat stories? I’ve got at least one more. This one takes place in Nevada. Picture a rainy, windy day in Gardnerville. Just the three Sweet girls sitting at home watching TV. Out of the blue, Annie says, “..what the heck?!” and slips out the front door. Corinne and I mostly tuned her out until a few minutes later, she announces that she has just rescued a little cat that was thrown out of a car window. She had been looking out the sliding glass door when a car drove past, slowed down slightly, and threw something dark and furry out of the window into the sagebrush. We teased her later, saying that they probably saw a skinny little 14 year old girl in their rear-view, scooping up the frightened kitten before they even turned the corner.

That cat was so great, though. We named her Boo because she was black with orange eyes. She was so sweet and only wanted to sit on your lap and drool all day long. Until she got spayed. When we went to pick her up, the vet tech handed her to me, wrapped up tight in a towel. I could hear muffled yowling coming from within, and I was told that “Boo woke up a little angry from surgery….”. And she stayed that way. The anesthesia made her permanently mad. What is up with us and mentally handicapped cats?!? Anyway, she was a real psycho after that, until she met her demise. I don’t want to go into too much detail, because it was gross…

…but let’s just say it involved a garage door motion sensor malfunction. And a cat that truly did become “flat as a pancake.”

Life-Changing Cornbread

Write this down.

1/4 cup flour
1 cup cornmeal
1 can creamed corn
2 eggs
1 cup evaporated milk (CUP, not can)
1/2 cup oil
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1 1/2 cups grated cheese
and one can of green chilis, very finely chopped. I used mild, but if you like spice, you could go medium or hot.

Combine all ingredients, bake in 8x8 dish for 45 min to an hour at 350 degrees (until the top is nice and toasty), and then eat. And eat. And eat.

My friend Angel brought some into work a few months back and I've been bugging her for the recipe ever since. This is about the one thing in my life I have ever made that turned out edible, and it was AMAZING. I mean it when I say it will change your life for good.

Umbrella, ella, ella

I'm not mean and I usually don't tease my dog, but she was being such a psycho the other night I had to record a couple of seconds. She hates our umbrella - HATES it. She tries to act all brave when it's closed up, running around, nipping and barking at it...but then when you pop it open, she hightails it out of there. I swear I only did this like, three times last night. Disregard the random magazine on the floor and the huge stack of shoes near the front door.

Additionally, it was also brought to my attention that my duck feeding video was long and boring. This is only like ten seconds long, so don't worry about me wasting your life away.

Blast from the Past

I can't try to pretend that I came up with this post idea all on my own. I was inspired by thepioneerwoman's truly awesome, incredibly 80s flashback to a high school dance. But she ripped off my post about times I've fallen, so I'm kind of doing the same thing. Okay, she doesn't even read my blog, it was just a weird coincidence, but still. Her picture reminded me of some great pictures of my own, so I dug them up for the benefit of your viewing pleasure.

This is me preparing to leave for my 9th grade semi-formal. I can't blame my hairdresser for the mulletty baby's breath explosion, because it was exactly what I had imagined and described to her in great detail. My hair is huge. My bangs are inexcusable. My braces are glistening. I'm wearing a boa for crying out loud. Look at that protruding clavicle, those knobbly knees, those calves, and those arms. Perhaps you might be able to make out the chunky black clogs (clogs!!) enhancing my already-enormous feet. I was gawky and awkward... and I didn't even know it. I thought I was beautiful, so I forced my mom to take an embarrassing amount of pictures of me before she drove me to the dance.

Flash forward two years. (the tenth grade Snowball was cancelled due to a freak ice storm). I'm now a junior wearing a strapless gown to prom. My mother took me shopping and I found that dress in Macys. It was $84, and my mom bought it for me under the strict guideline that as soon as we got home, she would craft some sleeve-like attachments to make the dress more modest. I agreed with her, but when we got home I refused to let her anywhere near my dress with any sort of black satin fabric in her hands. She should have strangled me to death, but she didn't. I was a total brat. But I paid dearly for it, because I counted no less than 8 other girls at prom with the EXACT same dress. So I learned my lesson, and look at me, I didn't turn out so bad for wearing a strapless gown to prom.

And there is a check for $84 headed my mom's way in the mail as we speak. Okay, that's not true, but if she wanted me to, I would write her one. Just let me know, mom.

Okay, end of dance pictures. So when I was digging for these, I came across another little gem. This photograph you are about to view is the result of much practice. I've been honing this skill for 20 years. My friend-who-later-became-my-sister-in-law, Lianna, took this picture of me when I was in 10th grade. When she showed this picture to her dad, she told him it was of some poor fool in the Single’s Ward, and he completely believed her. Didn’t even recognize that it was me. And he knew me well, too... I spent about four days a week at his house. Hilarious. Then when she gave it to me, she had covered the important part with a sticky note warning that I had to read first before peeling off and revealing the hideousness below. Here's the note (of course I kept it!).

Okay, so if you think you are prepared, you may scroll down to reveal the photo. Take a couple of breaths first. Clear your mind. Ready, go.























Down





















Down






























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The suspense is killing me....











































!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

We Should Have Been Working...

An actual emailed conversation that took place between Corinne and me today…

I had just gotten back from a doctor’s visit. I’m a new patient there, so I just basically reviewed all of my medical history with them, including this weird heart thing that I have (it isn’t serious or anything, just annoying, and there are a few different methods of getting it to stop spazzing).

Okay, so here it is.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

From: Jensen, Jessica
Sent: Thursday, January 31, 2008 1:56 PM
To: Monson, Corinne (Exchange)
Subject: RE:

They took my blood today as a precursor to my physical (I’m going back on Monday to get all that fun stuff done). She’s going to run a minimal ekg on my heart just so that they can have record of my heart issue..I came up with the best nickname EVER for that condition, by the way, and I can’t believe I haven’t been calling it that all along. Its long name is supraventricular tachycardia, but I’m calling it “Super-Tacky” from now on. When my heart starts fluttering and I start pushing on my eyeball (that’s supposed to make it stop), I’ll say “nothing to worry about, just my super-tacky acting up again….”. I’m so excited about it I can’t even stand it.

From: Monson, Corinne (Exchange)
Sent: Thursday, January 31, 2008 12:41 PM
To: Jensen, Jessica
Subject: RE:

So that’s an actual thing? Push on your eyeball?

From: Jensen, Jessica
Sent: Thursday, January 31, 2008 2:46 PM
To: Monson, Corinne (Exchange)
Subject: RE:

Yeah, it’s either that or strain like I’m pushing out a “BM”…I’m not even halfway kidding about this, and as of today these options have now been explained to me TWICE, by two different doctors, and it’s still just as awkward each time.

From: Monson, Corinne (Exchange)
Sent: Thursday, January 31, 2008 12:52 PM
To: Jensen, Jessica
Subject: RE:

I don’t even know what to say to that. Weird that that would fix your heart. Is it a specific artery or something?

From: Jensen, Jessica
Sent: Thursday, January 31, 2008 3:06 PM
To: Monson, Corinne (Exchange)
Subject: RE:

Yeah, she gave me the name of the artery but I can’t remember what it’s called. I just remembered the exact wording she used…. “bear down like you’re straining to push a BM”. I wish I could have laughed right out loud..but it would have been inappropriate. I hate how technical they have to be in their wording. Seriously, just tell me “act like you’re taking a huge dump”, it’s less weird. Thank goodness there are other options. Why would you even mention that one to me, if there are other things that work just as well?? Is there anyone on Earth that would rather do THAT than put pressure on their eyelid?? It does the same thing!!

From: Monson, Corinne (Exchange)
Sent: Thursday, January 31, 2008 1:07 PM
To: Jensen, Jessica
Subject: RE:

I guess it would depend on who’s around.

From: Jensen, Jessica
Sent: Thursday, January 31, 2008 3:12 PM
To: Monson, Corinne (Exchange)
Subject: RE:

And whether or not I feel like risking accidentally crapping my pants at that specific moment.

From: Monson, Corinne (Exchange)
Sent: Thursday, January 31, 2008 1:16 PM
To: Jensen, Jessica
Subject: RE:

Again, it depends on who’s around.

Millions of Fishes, Fishes for Free

So, I’ve always been a fan of fishing. It’s one of the few outdoorsy activities I enjoy. My dad used to take us as kids and my sister Annie and I would fight over who got to bonk the fish on the head with the club to kill it. Kind of gruesome now that I think about it, but fishing days are always happy memories to me. Like when we went ice fishing in Alaska and a stray dog wandered over and peed on The General’s leg. He was too busy hollering at us girls to stop scaring the fish to notice. That same trip, I caught a monster of a trout that snapped my line, and less than a second after I thought the fish I had wrestled was gone forever, but before I could even so much as stick my bottom lip out, my dad risked life and limb by plunging his arm into the hole and scooping the fish onto the ice. The thing was enormous. And it sat in our freezer for about 6 months before my mom pawned it off onto some missionaries.

Anyway, Jon loves fishing too, but when we were living in Idaho while he finished his degree, we were too poor to afford licenses. So we had to wait each year for one glorious day in July…FREE FISHING DAY. The one day a year we could legally catch-and-release as many fish as we wanted. Okay so that area in Idaho is supposed to be like, world renowned for the great fishing. Well maybe I made that up, but really, you’ve got the Henry’s Fork, and the Warm River, and it’s Outdoorsman’s paradise out there. So TWO YEARS in a row, after dutifully waiting for Free Fishing Day to roll around, then packing up our gear, and lunches, and inviting our friends along, and driving 30 minutes…we didn’t catch a single thing. Nothing. In the stupid Snake River (or some form of tributary). So the second year, we were really kind of mad about it, and we took a drive up to Idaho Falls to feed the ducks and blow off some steam from the totally wrecked fishing trip.

And here’s where this video comes in. First, a list of why this video makes me laugh.

1. Jon tries to count the ducks. You can’t see it very well… despite the thousands of dollars we spent on our amazing Canon Powershot A520..but there are literally hundreds and hundreds of geese in the canal alongside the falls. Mostly ugly babies, the kind that aren’t cute anymore, but all patchy and tufty and awkwardly large. There were some cute little babies too, but for the majority, we’re talking about the gangly ones.

2. Jon keeps telling me to throw the bread closer, to coax the babies over to us. But I’ve seen enough “Goose-On-A-Rampage” clips on America’s Funniest Home Videos to maintain a safe distance.

3. Jon gets worried each time I go a little too long without throwing them bread. He’s convinced that they will get “pissed off” if I keep them waiting.

4. I had NO IDEA he was taking a video, this entire time. Which explains why, near the end, he asks me to smile for the camera, and I turn for an awkward amount of time, showing my teeth and waiting for the flash.

Okay, so maybe it’s not that funny, but it’s one of only a few videos we have, so I’m posting it anyway.





So after we feed the ducks, we take a walk along the falls and notice a few families fishing along the banks. And then it HITS me – It’s STILL FREE FISHING DAY, and we have a fishing pole in the back of the Mazda! So we get all excited and pick out a spot directly across from the temple. By this point, the sun is beginning to go down so we’ve only got about an hour, and we only had a few scraps of bread to use for bait, but would you believe it…..



…we caught about 6 of the smallest little fish you’ve ever seen!



So Jon was pulling the hook out of this little friend when all of a sudden, BLOOD is smeared all over his hand. So I’m a little worried and asking him if he’s okay…..and he finally wrestled the hook out, put the fish back in the water, and swished his hand in it to clear off the blood. And he’s not saying anything, so I’m worried that he hooked himself good and doesn’t want to let me know just yet. But then when I pulled his hand to me to inspect it, he let me know that it was the fish’s blood, not his. And I’m the worst wife in the world, because THAT set me off …something to the effect of “ohhhhhh nnnnnnnooo, it was the FISH’S BLOOD??? POOR LITTLE FISH!!! It’s going to die!” Jon just had to give me one look that shut me up for good.

By this point the sun has set and we ended the adventure with this picture... one of my favorites I've taken so far with the Powershot (Which, by the way, was the cheapest digital camera we could find...... I was definitely joking about it costing thousands of dollars...)


PS- That's the camera case he's carrying....not a purse.....because my husband doesn't wear purses.....

Bellatrix: 2007-2008

I take back all the bad things I ever said about Bellatrix. I called her an idiot and said that she doesn't even recognize food even when it climbs on her. I was mean and insensitive and I take it all back, because little Bella died today. She was fine this morning (well..not fine I guess, since she hasn't had a single meal since she hatched, but she was slithering around and drinking water..) but when Jon went to take her out of her cage, her little body was barely moving.



This is Jon trying to revive her. I think she was dead at this point, though, and it was just nerves that were making her body slightly move. Ew.



Yep. Definitely dead. So, I was a little mad at her for dying without even giving food a chance (just GIVE FOOD A CHANCE!), until Jon saw dirt hanging out of her mouth. When he went to inspect exactly WHY she was eating dirt, he made a grisly discovery - poor little Bella's mouth was deformed from birth. The majority of it was completely sealed over. It was physically impossible for her to eat mice, and we just starved her to death over 4 long months. Worst. Snape owners. EVER.

On a happier note, I received my passport today. I sent out my application last week, paid all the extra money to have it expedited, then stressed for about 9 days and had bad dreams about it not arriving in time for my trip to Paris..when all of a sudden, there it was in my mailbox. And it's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen in my whole life.

Gravity

I don’t really embarrass easily – I’m pretty good at laughing most things off – probably because I have lots of experience at it. I fall lots more than most people do, I think. And I’m not talking about tripping or stumbling, I mean actually hitting the ground. You’d think I would have a little grace, and I have gotten better, but I was pretty awkward there for about 20 years. Classic example: Picture me, a freshman at UNLV, carrying my books up the stairs that lead out of the library. Entire room full of students below, and the glass doors above. I’m almost to the top when all of a sudden, my cell phone rings. As I reach into my purse to silence it, I totally miss the last step. My books made a HUGE thud as they hit the floor…then slid several feet in front of me. (I HAD to drop them in order to create a hand-barrier between my body and the ground!) So I pause for about two seconds, then pick myself up, gather my books, (a security guard was kind enough to hand me the notebook that had slid into his foot) and answer my cell phone on my way out of the double glass doors. It was my roommate, Kellie, and I screamed into her ear “I JUST FELL DOWN IN THE LIBRARY!!!” I guess I should have been traumatized, but like I said, I fall a lot.


The first time I fell in front of my boyfriend-to-later-become-my-husband, he was a little shocked, but I told him to get used to it. We were on our way out of my parent’s den, where he was sleeping while he visited me for a few days. His huge duffel bag was sitting near the door, and as I walked past it, somehow the strap became entwined around my legs and that was it. There was no chance to even try to catch myself, I was coming down so fast.


Since that first time, he has become an expert at catching me when I start to go over. I could have sued the Edmonton Mall when I slipped on some invisible spilled water, except that Jon swooped in and yanked me up at the last possible second. I was coming down so fast, I would have broken something for sure. When we honeymooned in Disneyland, it rained the whole time and my tread-less flip flops became lethal. I should have been a goner about fifty times, but after the first couple of close calls, Jon let me just hang onto his arm for the remainder of the day. Oh, and there was this one time in middle school that I totally ate it while showing like ten people this cool new swing step I had just learned. It was this cute little hop skip number, and I fell face first. Literally, my face hit the band room floor.


It’s funny though because if you were to ask me my most embarrassing moment, I’m pretty sure none of those would qualify. I have a tendency to stick my foot in my mouth all the time, and that’s more embarrassing to me than falling in front of a room full of people. Anyway, I’ve got to wrap this up so I can spend about fifteen minutes before I leave work contemplating where I want to eat tonight for dinner.

Don't Judge Me

I swear I'm not one of those people that's all weird about their dog, so I really regret posting twice in a row about Penny... but Jon took this video last night when I was on the phone, and when I watched it I couldn't stop laughing. Not the best quality...Jon's a real amateur with the Canon Powershot A520. (We are in serious need of an upgrade)





How mean! Yet, funny. And another funny thing. Penny came to join us on the couch last night after having a drink of water...



Yes, that is wet fur ABOVE her nose. From the side, you might be able to see that the tips of her ears are wet, too...



And here was the aftermath...



That's the towel I used to wipe her face off. It was so weird because she's not really a water-loving dog. I mean, she tolerates her bath...

(ew, my hands look deformed-from-birth!)

But afterwards she really goes insane. This is where I WAS going to post a video I took of her scooting all over the apartment on her face, but it was too dark to really see anything. Just imagine her rubbing her face along the carpet and snorting for 2 minutes and 17 seconds, and you'll get the idea.

And I'm so sorry, I won't post about Penny for a while, I swear, I really mean it when I say I'm not that "weird dog lady"....I've just been running low on creativity so there you go. Please don't think less of me...

The Dog Park

So Tucson has really stupid laws about dogs. No dog can EVER be off it's leash anywhere in the entire city unless it's in your own, fenced yard, or in one of five City of Tucson regulated dog parks. I remember how misled I felt the first time we pulled up to the dog park. I was imagining a wonderful place with lots of grass and trees plenty of room to run. Instead it was about a half an acre of dirt surrounded by chain link. A "paddock" for dogs, so to speak. Disgusting. The dumbest part of the whole situation is that there are hundreds of washes that stretch for miles and miles throughout the city. But if you're caught with your dog off it's leash in one of them, you have a mandatory fine. So stupid. So the City acts like they're being all giving by setting up these dirty patches of land. And we don't have a yard, and Penny needs to run and be socialized with other dogs while NOT on a leash (so says Caesar Milan), so I have no choice but to take her to this dog park when she starts getting weird and unbalanced. I should probably take her more often than I do, but I really can't stand it. Well today was one of those weird days where she just sits and whines at me, so I loaded her up in the car, grabbed a book in case I needed to appear busy to any weirdos, and off we went.

Just as gross as I'd remembered, though there were less dogs this time than last time. One was a Brussels Griffon named Daisy that looked JUST like it's owner - a larger, elderly lady with a squashy face. Anyway, these two ladies joined me at the picnic table and before I could pull out my book, one of them starts laughing and pointing - "LOOK! That dog looks just like its owner!!" If I had at least had my nose in my book, it would have been more obvious that I had NOTHING to do with those ladies, but as it was, all I could do was pray that dog's owner didn't hear. A Brussels Griffon isn't exactly the type of dog you'd be flattered to be compared to. I mean, I guess you wouldn't be flattered to be compared to ANY dog...but really now. Who does that??




"Excuse me, has anyone told you lately that you look like this? ...Well, you do."

Anyway, so sure, Penny's little compared to big dogs, but she's definitely not tiny. And some people bring TINY dogs to this dog park, and I always get nervous because Penny is so clumsy, I worry that she'll trip and inadvertently crush a teacup chihuahua to death. She's constantly falling and running into things, so much so that I'm really starting to worry about it a bit. I think I'm going to take her to the vet to see if there's something else other than clumsiness going on. Like, the other day, she leapt down the entire set of concrete steps in front of our apartment and skidded on her face for at least four feet before finding her footing. Her poor little lip was bleeding...then once it had scabbed over, she busted it open again. I'm not sure if it was her running into the metal chair that did it, or her knocking her mouth on a ceramic mug in Jon's hand (those two events happened within 30 seconds of each other)...it was probably a combination of both...anyway, afterwards her lip was bleeding again. It was funny when she'd be walking on the couch and all of a sudden fall off...or when she'd take a running start to jump into your lap and totally miss, but when she started actually hurting herself, it became less funny.

So anyway, there's this tiny little teacup at the dog park today, and I'm worrying a little about Penny crushing it, when all of a sudden this little thing came at her with a passion. She rolled over and took the humping with a worried little look on her face until the owner intervened. I thought it was hilarious and was preparing my phone for a picture, but the guy seemed really weird and embarrassed when he grabbed his dog away so I decided against underhandedly encouraging it so I could get a snapshot ("hey...little dog...come here again....). Hello - 3 pound chihuahua overpowering a 20 pound cockapoo? One of the funniest things ever.

We stayed there for about an hour and a half, until she was thoroughly filthy. Then instead of going to Petco afterwards (as was the plan) I had to take her home first for a bath. Her original owners opted against clipping her tail, so the grotesque long hair was completely matted with sticks and leaves and mud. And since she's got such curly fur all over her body, she became this gross grundgeball. I'm not kidding you, I carried her inside so she couldn't set foot on my floor, threw her in the bath, and had to fill up the tub three times since the water got so dirty. Then after her bath, she went crazy in the house, like usual, scooting around, rubbing her face along the carpet, and barking her head off.

And then.....she fell asleep. And she's been sleeping ever since. Thank goodness. All that just so she'd leave me alone. She always gets a little weird when Jon leaves. The other morning I couldn't find her, and when I went into the bedroom, there she was, curled up on his pillow. Awww. Too bad she's not allowed on the bed, ew. But he'll be back from Florida on Monday, then she'll mostly be back to normal.